[Excerpt] Sticks and Swords - A Nice View

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Fantasy Realm


The joy of this series is that it is built on the two main characters and the world they live in. The stories within could be limitless! So I have a habit of writing about any little bits that come
into my head... This is the unfortunate beginning to yet another story containing our two 'heroes', and what happens when I discover what SKY-PRISONS are. What do you think? Would you want to read
more?? ['Cause there is more- this became the beginning for book three in the time line! Scary shit, the thought or writing so much.]



(Sticks and Swords is a fantasy world that I am working on- my first. It is violent, it is vulgar, it's of the "not holding anything back" style. It has its quirks, as does my writing style. New to
this, I'm happy to hear opinions on how it all works.)

Submitted: May 22, 2018

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Submitted: May 22, 2018

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They say that the cold is the dampner on life. It takes the bright and burning flame inside a living thing, makes it splutter in outrage and dwindle in fear. And with that, the darkness creeps in. Death takes it in its clutches and warms its bony hands against the flickering flame of your life.

Basically, it was fucking cold.

“Why are we here again?” said the prisoner.

“Because,” replied the disheveled man next to him, blowing a long, blonde, and surprisingly solid, strand of hair out of his face, “we were paid to.”

“Why in these mountains’ pointy tits did we agree to that?”

“Because the pay was good,” stated the other man simply, wiping frost from an eyebrow.

His teeth clattering like two blocks of ice been smashed together over and over and over again, the prisoner eyed his companion dubiously. “We were that stupid, huh? I mean, there’s good pay, and there’s such good pay that suddenly everything becomes a toad pissing good idea.”

“Yeah. We were that stupid. At least my nose doesn’t itch no more.”

The prisoner turned his attention to his friend’s nose. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Jonah, it’s turning blue again.”

“Yeah, but it don’t itch.”

“It don’t Frosty the mother-fucking Mountain Walrus anything! Come here. I’ll suck on it for you.”

“Oh well, when you ask so nicely…”

 

The two men sat on a ledge, their hands chained to the bars behind them by their buttocks. They wore nothing but a few wrapped furs at their waste and thin strips of cloth tied around their calves and just reaching their feet. They tried their best to keep their feet entangled together, sitting as close to one another as possible and shoulder to shoulder. One man’s shivering shook the other and after hours of this, their bodies had of their own accord begun to take turns. And periodically they sucked on eachother’s noses and ears in attempt to keep them warm, their hands though tucked almost safely behind their backs. Jonah had even insisted on having his nipple given the treatment- and after a long while of point blank refusing, the prisoner had given in. “Why in all that is NOT pure, and holy, and damned undeserving of the goodness of the otherworld did you make me do that!?” he had protested.

“You remember that waitress?”

“Which one, the cow or the calf?”

“No, the other one?”

“Ohhhh… wait, the one that was already sent to slaughter?”

“No! That was the cook!” Jonah shivered that time, and not because of the cold. “Not that she didn’t try.”

“There was another waitress?”

Jonah had paused then, thinking. “Come to think of it, you might’ve been passed out. Surely you saw her. The brunette?”

“Jonah, they were all fucking brunette. Shit-coloured hair, the lot of ‘em.”

“The buxom one with long-ish hair?”

“I only saw one ‘buxom one’, and we’ve skipped her.”

“The one that kept bringing me drinks?”

“Ohhhhh. Wait. I thought she was a prostitute?”

Jonah blinked at him. “A… prostitute? Dressed as a waitress?”

“Maybe both?” the other prisoner had ventured.

Jonah scowled at him.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your bollocks twisted into triple Chausian knots. So?”

“So?”

“Jonah, the reason we started this idiotic tale of debauchery.”

“It was quite honourable, I’ll have you know!”

“How much you tip her?”

“Well…”

“How much?”

“A silver.”

“I told you. Prostitute. You pubic-hair brained fool.”

“I’m telling you, she was a waitress, and she didn’t ask for no payment.”

“You gave it to her!?”

“I tipped her in the morning before we left for being so nice. Blushed she did.”

“No fucking wonder! I am never letting you have the money pouch again, you frozen piss locked Chausian monkey! ...So anyway, back to the nipple issue.”

“Oh she had such wonderful nipples.”

“Not hers!”

“Ohhhhhh, oh right, yeah. She said she liked mine and would like to see them again.”

The prisoner had paused at this and looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow. For a long moment they just looked at each other until Jonah had started twitching his nose and looking annoyed. Which was rather absurd, as he was going cross eyed at the same time. “So...she likes your nipples?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, I mean, she said I was good looking, but didn’t exactly specify anything else.”

“...And you plan to let her ‘see them again’?”

“Well, she were a nice gal. Would like to pass through once more.”

“Don’t you know how to pick ‘em. Like the fifty sex-mad gods of the old Astern tribes, I tell ya.”

“They had fifty sex-mad gods?”

“Ah, well, see…” and there the conversation had continued. There was very little else to do, and in the absence of porn, women, or even any other man, let alone another living thing such as a goat, a tale of fifty very kinky gods would to have to do to warm the blood and pass the time.

 

So the two men sat on the ledge, dangling their freezing feet in a tight bundle, huddled together and shivered, looking down at the mountain range that splayed out from under them. They were protected scantily from the breeze in the little cleft they inhabited, the cage bars behind them the only route to sanctuary. Their hands were tied in such a way to the bars, that if any man decided to jump out into ‘freedom’ and flee the who-knows how many feet to the ground below, or ‘fall,’ the restraints would catch them. Their body weight would force them down, dislocating their shoulders as their arms were wrenched up behind their backs. Hopefully quickly. The pair had of course been informed of this, passing a few examples for reference as they were walked to their ‘cells’. As story time goes, they weren’t going to forget that one any time soon.

 

“So, you got any escape plans yet,” enquired Jonah, chewing on his lip.

“Well, if they’re anything like the chastity belt on these here mountain’s princess, with a bit of luck, these ogre spat shackles will just come off.”

“The princess’ chastity belt?”

The prisoner looked at his companion. “You need to get out more.”

“I go pretty much everywhere you go.”

“Then maybe you should read something! Anyway, yeah, if you didn’t know, the princess here has some sort of mountain gorilla blood in her. And any man who can match her strength she takes to her bed, despite the fact that, like in most ‘civilised’ society, princesses are expected to sit there all dainty and pretty with their thighs tightly knit. Oh, and if he refuses, he dies.”

Jonah didn’t reply for a long while, so the prisoner decided to take the silence for what it was worth and keep it. Then all of a sudden: “uhm, T-”

“Jonah!” the prisoner cut him off sharply.

“Oh yeah, uhm, You-”

“You!? That was the best you could come up with!?” The prisoner turned to stare at his friend.

“You know that princess?” Jonah stated simply.

“The whore monkey?”

“Uhm, well…” The prisoner noticed that his friend’s face had gone a shade whiter tinged with blue than it already was. He watched Jonah’s face and then turned to look in the direction he was looking- behind them- and froze (more than he already was, which was to say, quite). The woman loomed behind the gap in the rock in which the bars were set. Her face was chiseled from granite, and she was swad in heavy furs. Her steely green eyes almost cut through the bars and her mouth was a thin line. Quite frankly, the prisoner thought, the pale face and dotting of light freckles across her nose aside, she was the embodiment of a great, big pine tree. No scratch that. The embodiment of a great, big, angry pine tree.

“Oh bugger.”

Her voice, albeit notably feminine, resonated with a deep base from stony wall to stony wall. “Kick that one off the ledge. Bring the other.” The two guards by her side nodded and began to step forward, but Jonah decided then to pick his voice back up off their ledge.

“If I could be permitted to suggest, your majesty, that there be a more fitting punishment for my compatriot here? Other than to swing?” He paused slightly, and when no objection came immediately, he carried on. “You see, last winter we discovered that if you drop hot coals down his pants, he squeals like a thirteen year old girl in front of the Prince of Chausau. That or some such would surely entertain you more.” He spoke hurriedly, his head down, but loud enough to be heard against the not so distant howling of the wind. Jonah resolutely kept his eyes down as his fellow captive slowly bore thick and nasty icicles into his temples. The large woman held up a hand, and her two guards paused. They were clad in fur and leather, and rough masks hid their faces underneath their chestnut shaped helms.

“I do not care for your humour. But, if he can convince me he is of further use than that of beingLustfowl, the God of Wind’s plaything, then perhaps he should begin by bowing.” The prisoner, judging the ‘reward’ would far outstrip the satisfaction of defiance, did not hesitate to do just that.

“I apologise for my thoughtless tongue, your glorious majesty. Kept in chains as we are, out here in the cold, we have nothing but rumour and gossip to keep ourselves occupied, no matter how untrue or profane.” High level butt-licking, he thought, but now was not the time for pride. The two men kept their eyes down, daring only enough to stare at a boot each.

The bear of a woman grunted, and gave a signal with her hands again. Oh shit. But to the surprise of both the men, they were both unchained and dragged into the safety of the mountain prison. Now not huddled together, the two men shivered almost to the point where they started floating. The princess swished past in her furs and with another wave of her bejewelled hand- as they now noticed she had no jewellery apart from the glimpses of gold on her fingers- walked off down the dark corridor that had lead past their cell. The two guards followed also, but not before they had jabbed the prisoners with short, staff like clubs, forcing them to walk at their pace. Which was not easy. Two more guards materialised, and the two prisoners were now boxed in, the princess leading the front with a sure, wide gait. Muscles left to stagnate in the cold, the two men shuffled as fast as they could to keep up, their breath coming ragged out their mouths, to the point that they could barely form words.

“This,” Typ gasped, “was not part of the plan.”

Jonah simply nodded and kept his eyes on his feet, making sure he didn’t fall as they were ushered to now who-knows-where.

 


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